Elf Eye for the Dwarf Guy
by Elf Eye
Summary: Led by Elrond, a group of elves do a makeover of Gimli.
1. Dossier

Elf Eye for the Dwarf Guy

Cast

Clothing                                    Haldir

Culture                                     Elrond

Food and Wine                        Thranduil

Grooming                                 Legolas

Interior Design                          Celeborn

            "So who are we going to makeover this week?" asked Celeborn, peering over Elrond's shoulder at the parchment scroll that the Lord of Imladris was smoothing flat upon a table in his elegant library.

            "Hmm," mused Elrond.  "This may be our greatest challenge."

            "Huh," scoffed Haldir.  "Nothing could present a greater challenge than the Orc we worked on two months ago.  Don't you remember how crude those leggings were—_so_ First Age.  Although the eye motif on his tunic _was_ rather mesmerizing, I must admit."

            "No, no," exclaimed Thranduil.  "The Troll—definitely the Troll.  His diet—_eww—jellied hobbits!"_

            "Oh, that was nothing compared to the Uruk-hai last week," protested Legolas.  "Don't you remember those teeth!  And his hair!  I broke three brushes untangling those dreadlocks."

            "Well," replied Elrond, "I admit that we have faced some pretty challenging subjects, but, believe me, boys, this one will dwarf them all.  We have been assigned to makeover—well, actually, it _is_ a Dwarf.

            "No, no," wailed Celeborn.  "Not one of those cursed Naugrim!"

            "Look, Elrond," Legolas suggested desperately, "Couldn't we make over the Balrog that Glorfindel has been babbling about?  I mean, from what Glorfindel says—."

"No, no, what about the Dark Lord—now there's someone who could do with a serious transformation!" exclaimed Haldir.

"Transformation!" cried Thranduil.  "If it's a transformation you want, let's get the producer to book a Ringwraith.  But a dwarf, no, that's just not possible!"

"Possible, or not, a Dwarf is our assignment for this week," declared Elrond, silencing his dismayed colleagues by raising one of his patented eyebrows.

"Alright," grumbled Thranduil.  "Let's get on with it.  Exactly what, according to that dossier, are we up against?"

"This week's subject is Gimli, son of Gloin," read Elrond.

"Dwarves think alliteration is so cute," muttered Legolas.  "No subtlety whatsoever—not even enough for a bit of onomatopoeia."

"Don't be vulgar," hissed Haldir.

"He resides in Moria," continued Elrond.

"Ugh," sniffed Celeborn.  "I just know the lighting is going to be atrocious."

"His beverage of choice is ale, and he loves red meat on the bone."

"My Dorwinion wine is going to be wasted on this brute," moaned Thranduil.

"In terms of grooming, he favors long, bushy beards."

"I suppose," grumbled Legolas, "that I will need to stock up on more hairbrushes.  Does the dossier say anything about his nails?"

"No, but I would assume that they are going to be cracked and dirty—probably like the Ranger we did three months ago."

"_Eeeew," chorused the Fabulous Fellowship of the Five at the memory of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, scruffy beyond description (_although_, thought Haldir, _that necklace was a nice touch—and the cloak, and the brooch and the vambraces and his lean thighs and his taut butt_—." _

"You know," said Legolas thoughtfully, interrupting Haldir's ruminations, "now you mention it—well, maybe this Dwarf won't be so bad after all."

"Glad you feel that way," declared Elrond.  "Now let's mount up!"


	2. Moria

Thanks for the encouragement from reviewers Dis Thrainsdotter, fattybolger, LilyBaggins, and Starlit Hope.  I'm glad you folks liked the first chapter, and I hope you like the second.

By the way, I'm changing Gimli's home to Moria.  (This story is set years and years after the RotK, so we can assume that the orcs are gone.)  I haven't gone back and changed Chapter 1 yet, but I will.

Vocabulary:

Oropherion—means "son of Oropher."  Oropher is Thranduil's father and Legolas's grandfather.  He died in a battle during the Last Alliance.

Elf Eye for the Dwarf Guy

Chapter 2

            When the Fabulous Fellowship of the Five arrived at the entrance to Moria, they were dismayed at what they found.  The Fab Five had had to clamber over dead trees and tumbled stones and through slimy mud to get there, only to be confronted by a pool of stagnant, scum-covered water that extended almost to the door.  The only living vegetation in sight were the two old trees that flanked the entry.    

"You know," observed Celeborn, "I think we need to add another member to our team.  This Dwarf doesn't just need an interior designer; he needs a landscaper, too!"

"Yeah," agreed Haldir, "a landscaper who is really good with water gardens—this place needs fountains, lots of fountains, and footbridges, water lilies, water hyacinths—"

"He also should be good with grottoes," interrupted Thranduil.  "The tumbled stones around here really have potential.  Arranged artfully, they could lend themselves to an exotic, antiquated look."

            "O.k! o.k!" Elrond replied impatiently, "I'll send a memo to the producer, but for now let's just concentrate on surviving this one week with the resources we've already got."

Elrond pounded on the door.  No one stirred inside.  After waiting a decent interval, Elrond pounded on the door yet again.  Still nothing.

"This doesn't seem to be working, Elrond," Celeborn said hopefully.  "Why don't we just give up and tell the producer that we couldn't get through to our subject's inner-elf  'cause we couldn't get through to him, period."

Elrond scowled and raised not one both patented eyebrows.  "There must be some way to get inside."

"Let me take a look at that door," said Legolas.  "It looks kinda like a door I ran across on a trip with a group of friends a millennium or so ago—you know, back when we were a bunch of idealists trying to rid the world of poorly designed jewelry."

Legolas stepped up to the door and peered at it.  "Well, gee," he sighed dramatically, "if those Dwarves would only do a little cleaning, but noooo…." With a flick of his wrist, he brushed away the dust that covered the instructions for opening the door.  Haldir coughed delicately as the dust blew into his face.

            "What does it say?" asked Elrond.

            "Uh, it reads, "Say, dude, come on in," answered Legolas.

            "Dude!?" spluttered Celeborn.  "Dude!?  And we're gonna hafta spend a week on a makeover of this, this—Halfling!"

            "Hey," protested Legolas, "he's a Dwarf, not a Halfling!  Anyway, I happen to know some really nice Halflings!"

            "Yeah, yeah, I know," snorted Celeborn.  "Let me guess—some of your best friends are Halfings, right?"

            "But would you want your daughter to marry one?" sniggered Haldir.

            "No! no!" I gotta a better one!" chortled Thranduil.  "Would _you wanna marry one!?"_

            "Eeew!"  Legolas gagged.  "Forget marriage; I wouldn't even want one as a domestic partner!"

            "And I," Thranduil added, "wouldn't want to meet one at a bathpavilion."

            "Bathpavilion!?" laughed Celeborn, staring at Thranduil in amazement.  "That is _so_ not done anymore."

            "Oh, yeah?" Thranduil challenged.  "So how do _you meet people?"_

            "Well," Celeborn answered haughtily, "There are several very well-monitored chat-talans in Lothlorien."

            "Right.  'Well-monitored' is the operative word," Haldir whispered to Legolas.  "_I_ prefer the greater intimacy of instant messaging by palantir—by the way, are you connected to the network?"

            "Enough," shouted Elrond before Legolas had a chance to answer.  "Your catty comments are not helping us get through this door!"

            "You know," said Legolas thoughtfully, "I remember something about what it took to get through that door a millennium ago.  What's Dwarvish for "dude?"

            "Um, 'Dwarf'?" suggested Thranduil.

            To the amazement of the Fab Five, the door suddenly swung slightly inward, and Elrond then was able to open it completely with the gentlest of pushes.

            "So," said Legolas triumphantly, "the correct reading was not 'Say, dude, come on in', but 'Say, "dude"; come on in'.  Quotation marks and a semicolon; that's all it took to unravel this riddle."

            "Yeah," complained Celeborn, "but if the Dwarf had punctuated it right in the first place, then we wouldn't have been hung up here so long."

"Terrific," grumbled Elrond.  "Another area where this Dwarf is gonna need help, culture-wise."

Celeborn grimaced at the sight that greeted the Fab Five.  Dirt and cobwebs everywhere, but that wasn't the half of it.

"First of all," Celeborn muttered through gritted (and gritty) teeth, "these bodies have got to go.  I mean, look how disheveled they look—they've probably been lying here for centuries."

"Oh, I don't know," said Thranduil.  "I kinda like the statement they make, what with all those arrow protruding out of them."

Elrond stared at Thranduil.  "Oh, come on, Oropherion, you're not into that sort of thing, are you?"

"Long pointy objects, long pointy objects," chanted Legolas, who had drawn his blades and was twirling them with a dreamy expression on his face.  Thranduil swatted at him, but he scooted for protection behind Haldir, who flung his arms around him and grinned.

The Fab Five tiptoed deeper into the Dwarf's abode.

"Ew, yuck," cried Thranduil, "I cannot _buh-lieve how rundown this place is.  I mean, will you just look at this well—_I_ wouldn't drink any water from it—nuh uh, no way."_

The Fab Five stared in horror at the dirty bucket that rested on the lip of the crumbling well, and Haldir poked disgustedly at the rusty, broken chain that lay in a haphazard jumble next to the bucket.

"Hmmph," snorted Elrond as he noticed what lay at the base of the well.  "Dwarves have no respect for literature.  Would you look at the state of this book!"  He bent down and drew a book from the grasp of a dead body.  "The pages are torn and stained, and, see, its spine is broken!"  Loose pages slipped out from the volume as Elrond spoke.  "I swear, it looks as if someone has been using this thing for sword practice!"

"Mmmm," murmured Legolas, "long pointy objects, long pointy—."   Thranduil swatted at him again, and he scurried back to Haldir, who flung his arms around him and smirked.

"O.k., o.k., guys, settle down," growled Elrond.  "Well, I must say, it's obvious that this Dwarf is going to put Celeborn's interior design expertise to the ultimate test."

"And Thranduil is going to have to introduce him to Perrier water without delay," Haldir chimed in.

"And I _dread to think what Haldir and I are going to face in the area of clothing and grooming," whined Legolas.  "Judging from these, ahem, accommodations, we may be in for a worse time than I thought.  I'm starting to think more fondly of that rugged ranger, Aragorn son of Arathorn."_

"_Now who's alliterating!?" sneered Haldir.  Legolas swatted at him, but he darted for protection behind Thranduil, who flung his arms around him and leered._

"WILL YOU GUYS CUT IT OUT!" shouted Elrond.

"Elrond, that is _so not refined," began Celeborn, but he halted when Elrond drew his sword._

"Oh, good, a long, pointy—"

"Legolas," Elrond snarled, "how would you like to be _stuck_ with a long, pointy object!?"

"Bad question, Elrond," interjected Haldir.

Folks, sorry to leave things hanging on a point, so to speak.  TBC.        


	3. Durin's Demons and Grendel's Goblins

One reviewer (_fattybolger) wanted me to have a character say "Let's motor!"  I didn't use that phrase exactly, but at the end of Chapter 1, Elrond now says "Let's mount up!"  Close enough?_

_Dis__ Thrainsdotter, I know it's not realistic to leave the bodies unburied, but, hey, is there anything about this story that's realistic!  J_

_Starlit Hope_, I'm still leaving the relationships, uh, in the closet.

            The Fabulous Fellowship of the Five had finally scrambled its way deep into Moria.  Elrond paused to consult his scroll.

"O.K., according to this map, we've got to count thirty-two columns, then take a doorway to the left.  The directions are very specific, and if we don't follow them, we may end up making over a balrog instead of a Dwarf—and I don't think I'm ready for that."

The others nodded their agreement and began to count off columns.

"You know," said Celeborn thoughtfully, "the workmanship of these columns is very impressive.  We may be able to build on this, décor-wise."

"But," replied Thranduil, "don't you think the whole thing is just too, too—overstated.  Something on a smaller scale, a little more intimate, don't you think?"

"Mmm," murmured Legolas, "intimate, yes, intimate is good."

"That's a Dwarf all over, now, isn't it," said Haldir.  "They build everything so big.  **I **think they are trying to compensate for a small—.

"Hey," called Elrond, "I think this is it."

The Elves stared apprehensively at the door that he was pointing to.  It was decorated with parchment posters of Durin's Demons playing Grendel's Goblins—using a troll-head for a ball, of course.

Thranduil sniffed in disdain.  "Great, this Dwarf's gonna be some sort of testosterone-soaked ball jockey."

"Ball jockey?"  Haldir looked interested.

"Not **that kind of ball, Haldir," groaned Elrond.  He knocked tentatively on the door.  They heard someone shuffling inside, and in a few minutes the door creaked open and Gimli peered out.  His face was unwashed and his beard tangled.**

"Oh," apologized Elrond, "I guess we got here too early.  You haven't had a chance to tidy up yet."

Gimli stared at him, puzzled.  "Course I've tidied up.  Whaddya take me for, an Orc?"  "He pulled the door open and gestured for them to come inside.

"Ah," said Celeborn, catching sight of the mithril chain-mail tossed onto a table, "Mithril is just coming back in style.  That design is too busy, of course—all those itsy bitsy links—but we may be able to combine it with a fetching tunic with a neck that leaves just a teensy weensy bit of the mithril exposed at the throat.  What do you think, Thranduil?"

"Oh, yes, but let's have a little mithril show at the waist, too.  Cut the tunic short—not too short, of course, just enough to cause the eye to sweep appreciatively down his torso, from his neck down to his waist."

"But why have the eye stop at the waist?" asked Celeborn.  The two Elves wandered into the corner to continue their discussion, taking turns holding up the mithril chain-mail to one another.

 Elrond meanwhile was looking over the rest of the room.  He wrinkled up his nose as he looked over the assemblage of tools scattered haphazardly over Gimli's workbench.

            "Gimli, hasn't anyone ever told you to take care of your tools!?"

            Gimli looked offended.  "Whatever tool I'm holdin' at the moment, I take care of!  So what's your problem?  You don' believe me, well, let me have a tool to work with, an' I'll take care of it!"

            "Ooh, ooh, me first," clamored Haldir.  "I've got a tool that needs to be taken care of!"

Elrond cleared his throat.  "Haldir, you take care of your own tool!"

            Suddenly they heard someone tramping toward Gimli's room.  The footsteps stopped and a heavy fist banged on the door.

"Gimli," a voice boomed, "Are yeh in there, son?"

"Quick," whispered Gimli, "into the closet."  Gimli gestured toward a sagging door that opened into a dark, dusty space half-filled with dented shields and rusty swords.

Haldir peered cautiously into this hole.  "Oh, no," he protested, "I'm not going in the closet."

"Yeah, Gimli, Haldir has spent so much time in the closet—give him a break, why don't you?" chimed in Elrond.

"Well, **I don't mind being in the closet," declared Legolas.**

"Haldir suddenly looked less horrified at the thought of pushing into that small space.

"Well, I guess if Legolas can be in the closet, then I can, too."

Legolas pranced into the closet with Haldir hard on his heels—but then Haldir pulled the door shut before the rest of the Fabulous Five could follow.

"Hey," protested Elrond, "What are you doing?"

"It's too crowded in here," Haldir called back.  "Legolas and I are practically being thrown into each other's arms as it is."

"Curse this armor," came the muffled voice of Legolas.  "Something long and pointy is pressing against me."

"Let me make you more comfortable," Haldir declared.  "Is that better?"

"Mmmm, much better.  But there is this one spot—Oooh, yes, Haldir, YES!  Mmmmm—"

While the Elves had been arguing over the closet, the room door had been reverberating from the blows that Gimli's Dad had been raining upon it.  Suddenly it came crashing down, the frame shattered.  In stepped a very irate Gloin, whose eyes widened in astonishment when he saw that his son was consorting with—Elves!

"Gimli," he roared.  "How could you!?  What will your mother say!?  What will your grandmother say!?  What will your great-uncle say!?  What will your great-great-great-aunt on your mother's side say!?  What will the priest say!?"

"Um, Dad, interrupted Gimli, "about the priest…."

TBC


	4. Riding With Legolas

Thanks to the following reviewers for additional ideas and encouragement: _Dis__ Thrainsdotter, _Natural Beauty_, and __Starlit Hope._

            Gloin's howls of outrage would have cowed even an Uruk-hai.  Waving his arms, stamping his feet, his face purple, his eyes bulging, the glowering Dwarf seized an ax and made as if he were going to prepare elf cutlets.  Elrond, Celeborn, and Thranduil—Haldir and Legolas were still in the closet—scrambled for the door, but a desperate Gimli blocked their path.

            "No! no! you can't leave.  You've got to do this makeover!"

            "Uh, Gimli," gasped Elrond, who was trying to keep Gimli between himself and Gloin.  "I don't think your family is ready for you to take this step!"

            "Nonsense," shouted Gimli.  "Dad! Dad! Haven't you been saying that it's time for me to settle down with a nice Dwarf maiden?  These makeover experts will have the ladies breaking down the doors to reach me."

"Probably literally," thought Elrond to himself.

            Suspiciously, still brandishing the ax, Gloin stopped his ranting.  He was indeed bothered by the total absence of womenfolk from Gimli's social calendar.  Warg-hunting, troll-baiting, brew-hoisting, hafling-tossing—that's all his son seemed to do in his spare time.  Gloin enjoyed gutting a warg as much as the next Dwarf, but, really, spending a little time with the hairier sex was something a _really_ dwarfly Dwarf should do at least once a century, if not once a decade.  But how could these—these _Elves _help Gimli make his mark in that department?  I mean, what do _Elves_ know about being dwarfly? 

            Still, it wouldn't hurt to listen to what they had to say.  Gloin lowered the ax and glared at the three elves, who were huddled together behind Gimli.   "Alright," he grumbled grudgingly, "What've ye got in mind?"

            Elrond stepped out tentatively from behind Gimli.

            "Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Elrond.  I hail from Rivendell, and I am here to advise Gimli on cultural matters.

            "I'm Celeborn.  I live in Lothlorien, and I'm here to assist in the area of interior design."

            "And I am Thranduil.  I reside in Mirkwood, and my expertise is in the selection of wine and the preparation and presentation of food."

            Gloin snorted.  "Mirkwood, eh?  I've been there.   During my stay, I wasn't very well entertained, food- and beverage-wise.  Accommodations were pretty poor, too."

"Oh," said Thranduil nervously.  "Was that so?  Well, uh, I promise you that I'll take up the matter with the management."

Gloin grunted and turned back to Elrond.  As the older Dwarf interrogated the Elf as to his intentions vis-à-vis Gimli, Thranduil and Celeborn held a whispered conversation with his son.

"Gimli, I've never seen a dwarf-woman," said Celeborn curiously.  "Tell me about them."

"They are so alike in voice and appearance that they're often mistaken for dwarf-men.  This has given rise to the belief that there _are no dwarf-women and that Dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground, which is of course ridiculous."_

Celeborn and Thranduil exchanged glances, but before they could say anything further, the closet door was flung open and Haldir and Legolas stumbled out.

"What's this!?" roared Gloin.  "Why are there elves coming out of the closet!?"

"Oh," said Elrond hastily, throwing out the first thing that came to mind, "they were measuring."

"Yes," chimed in Celeborn, "they were measuring, uh, the length of the—the length of, uh—"

"In the name of Durin," bristled Gloin, "the length of what!?"

"The spear!"

"The sword!"

"The shaft!"

"I think I can clear up this matter," said Elrond, recovering his composure.  "They were examining the tools in the closet.  You know, Gimli should consider polishing his tools and putting them on display."

"Oh, yes, collections of any sort are great conversation openers, and I'm sure Gimli's prospective guests would find his tools to be fascinating," added Celeborn.

"That's true," declared Haldir.  "I can't tell you how many times I've used the line, 'Would you like to come back to my talan and see my—'"

"Uh, thank you, Haldir," interrupted Elrond.  "Gloin, let me properly introduce you to our remaining experts.  This is Haldir, who specializes in apparel, and this is Legolas, who will provide Gimli with suggestions on grooming."

"Legolas, Legolas," murmured Gloin thoughtfully.  "That name sounds familiar."  He turned to Gimli.  "Didn't you use to go about with a Legolas, oh, about a millennium ago?"

Gimli looked nervous.  "Aye, Dad, that I did."

"That's right," Legolas piped up.  "Gimli and I spent a lot of time in each other's company."

"What!" shouted Gloin.  "You never told me this Legolas you were gallivanting about with was an Elf!"

"Well," replied Gimli a trifle defensively, "I was distracted at the time—trying to keep my head, you know, when all about me were losing theirs."

"Gimli and I became quite close," said Legolas cheerfully.  "Gimli, do you remember how you used to hold me around the waist _so tightly!?  Sometimes you clutched me so hard that you left bruises on my hips!"_

"GIMLI!" shrieked Gloin, his voice as high-pitched as a ringwraith's.  "WHAT is he talking about!?"  Gloin's face was redder than a balrog's, and the veins on his forehead stood out like the ridges of the Misty Mountains.

"Uh, Dad, I rode with Legolas.  Sometimes things got bumpy, and I had to hold on _really_ tightly."

"You rode with LEGOLAS!  You RODE with Legolas!"

"Gloin," counseled Elrond, "you really need to put more emphasis on the preposition.  Gimli rode _with_ Legolas—not, I beg you to notice, _on_ Legolas.   In terms of cultural awareness, it is vitally importance to pay attention to the niceties of the language."

"Shaddup before I preposition _you_!" snarled Gloin.

"Ooh, ooh! me first! me first!" squealed Haldir.

Speechless, Gloin stared at Haldir.

"Um, Dorwinion wine, anyone?" asked Thranduil nervously.

TBC 


	5. Mount Up!

            It took three and a half bottles of Thranduil's Dorwinion wine before Gloin had calmed down enough for the Fab Five to get on with the makeover of Gimli.

            Thranduil began to rummage about in the kitchen nook.  "How can a person possibly prepare a decent meal using this grungy cookware—I mean, _really!"  Thranduil tossed a seemingly endless supply of dented pots and grease-encrusted pans into the dumpster that the Dimrill Deli had supplied in exchange for being promoted on the show.  "The Dimrill Deli, an excellent place to find superb cuts of dragon sirloin," declaimed Thranduil to Gimli, who was only able to grunt in acknowledgement because Legolas was working on his beard._

Thranduil repeated his promotional spot about the Dimrill Deli as soon as he saw what was in the larder.  "What is _this_!" he grimaced, gingerly holding between his thumb and forefinger a strip of something dark and leathery.

Elrond wrinkled up his face.  "Looks like some kind of dried meat."

"Werrrph Jergly," spluttered Gimli.

"What?"

"Weeeerrrpk Jerigly!"

Legolas took his hands off Gimli's beard for a moment.

"Warg Jerky!" shouted Gimli.  "It's really tasty," he added.

Thranduil looked faint and dropped the shriveled ribbon of meat into the dumpster.  When he found the jar of pickled troll eyes, he felt even fainter.

Legolas too was starting to feel ill.  What had at first seemed like a promising situation had rapidly gone bad.

"I catch a whiff of beer in your hair.  Have you been using it as a rinse?"

Gimli stared at him as if he were mad.  "Waste good beer as a _rinse_!?"

"Um, well, you'd be surprised at what people use in treating problem hair."

Gimli glared at him.  "Are you inferring that I have problem hair?"

"No," interrupted Elrond.  "He's _implying that you have problem hair.  You see, Gimli, those two verbs are often confused.  You should use inferring when you mean—_

"Elrond," Legolas whispered urgently, "I don't think you're helping!"

 Indeed, Gimli had gone from glaring to glowering, so Elrond dropped the subject and began to help Legolas as he attempted to untangle Gimli's beard."

"Legolas, there seems to be something snarled."

"Yeah, his beard."

"No, I mean snarled _in his beard."_

Elrond poked and pried and finally succeeded in drawing something brown and crumbly out of Gimli's beard.

"A crust of bread?"

"Yep, I think so.  Hey, Thranduil, can you use this?"

Thanduil didn't look as if he thought that was funny.

"There's something else in here."

Elrond probed a little more and managed to extricate the rind of a cheese.

"Hey, Thranduil.  You're the expert.  Can you tell us what kind of cheese this is?"

"Was," muttered Legolas.

Thranduil swayed a little bit.  Suddenly he grabbed a bottle of Dorwinion wine and downed nearly half of it without stopping to breathe.  Gimli looked impressed.

It was the longest makeover they had ever done, but at last, thanks to the fashion sense of the Fab Five and the magic of product placement, Gimli was ready for his close-up.  The room was filled with the aroma of grilled dragon garnished with athelas and decorated with tastefully arranged iridescent scales.  The dowdy tables and stools had been replaced with clean-lined furniture that reflected the most up-to-date styles out of Gondor.  Gimli himself was fashionably coifed, and his beard was elegantly trimmed into something resembling a Van Dyke.  And his clothes!  They were the latest in haute couture.  "You're going to particularly appreciate this Lothlorien cloak," Haldir assured Gimli as he put the finishing touches on his outfit.  "Not only does it make you look quite debonnaire; you can use its camouflage feature to make a quick getaway if a date is not working out."

Gloin had begun to recover from the Dorwinion wine at this point, and even he was impressed.

"My son, I do believe that you will be viewed as the most dashing and desirable Dwarf this side of the Misty Mountains."

"Uh, Dad, we're directly underneath the Misty Mountains, so which side would that be?"

Gloin waved off his question.  "Never you mind, son.  The point is that every dwarf-woman within ten leagues of Moria will be lining up to hit on you."

Probably literally, thought Thranduil.

Just at that moment, there came a knock on the doorframe to Gimli's chamber—I say the doorframe because, as you will remember, Gloin had earlier knocked the door off its hinges.  One of Gimli's friends had stopped by to see if Gimli wanted to go exploring in one of Moria's less frequented corridors.

Gloin looked at the interloper with an unfriendly eye.  "You've come at a bad time, Darren son of Dilbert.  Gimli is about to throw himself wholeheartedly into the dwarven social scene."

"Oh," said Darren son of Dilbert, disappointed, "halfling-tossing and all that?"

            "Actually," replied Gimli, "I'm looking for, ah, more refined action tonight."

Darren's eyes gleamed.  "More _refined_ action?"

"Yes.  To be precise, I plan to spend tonight in the company of a dwarf-woman rather than a dwarf-man—or mayhap even in the company of more than one dwarf-woman."

"That's the spirit!" exclaimed Haldir. 

"Oh, but I think you should spend the evening with _me_," declared Darren son of Dilbert.

"Darren," growled Gloin, "I know we Dwarves can't hear as well as Elves, but surely you can tell the difference between 'dwarf-woman' and 'dwarf-man'."

"Actually," replied Darren son of Dilbert, "the difference is not always as clear cut as you might think.  That is an insight that I have recently acquired from the wise wizard Gandalf."

"Uh oh," whispered Elrond to Celeborn.  "What has Mithrandir gone and done now!?" 

            Gloin harrumphed.  "What in Middle Earth are you babbling about!?"

"Merely that because of the magic of Mithrandir, the greatness of the Grey Pilgrim, the—"

            "WHAT has that wizened wizard done!?" bellowed Gloin.

            "Um, Dad, he's not really a _wizened_ wizard.  Why, I remember once when we were on the ramparts of Rohan—it's very windy there, you know—and a gust lifted his robe, and I couldn't help but notice—"

            "Shaddup before I rampart you!"

            "Ooh! ooh!" squealed Haldir, "Me first!  Me—ooomph!"

            Elrond had backhanded Haldir, who flew into the arms of Legolas, who dispensed with grinning and smirking and went straight to leering.

            "Oh, you poor dear," he whispered to Haldir.  "You'd better let me check to see if all your parts are working.  Here, let's get back into the closet so that I can examine you in privacy."

            "Mmm," agreed Haldir.  "You know, I always liked playing healer and wounded warrior when I was an Elfling."

            The two disappeared back into the closet.  Meanwhile, Gloin was glaring at Darren son of Dilbert.  Through gritted teeth, the angry Gloin growled, "Now, you tell me _exactly what that wretched wizard has done."_

            "Well," said Darren son of Dilbert, "he has solicitously assisted me in solving a pressing personal problem that has perennially and painfully perplexed me."

            Elrond groaned.  "Could we have a little less alliteration and a little more illumination."

            Celeborn poked him.  "You're doing it yourself, you know."

            "What?"

            "Alliterating—although, to be precise, I think I might have detected a touch of assonance as well."

            Gloin snarled, "I'll ass—"

            "Yes, yes," sighed Elrond.  "I know: you'll assonance me."  The Elf turned to Darren son of Dilbert.  "Look, could you just tell us what Mithrandir has done?"

            "Oh, very well.  You see before you _not_ Darren son of Dilbert"—he paused dramatically and then went on with a flourish—but Darleen daughter of Dorothea!"

            Everyone gaped, even the Elves, who should have known better.

            "Y-y-you are a dwarf-_woman_!?" stuttered Gimli.

            "Yes," replied Darre—er, Darleen.  "I was hardly a century old before I began to feel that I didn't fit into my body.  At first I thought it was size problem—me being a Dwarf and all.  But after a while I realized that I really wasn't comfortable with the warg-gutting, troll-baiting, brew-hoisting, halfling-tossing lifestyle.  Actually," Darleen giggled, "I think halflings are kinda cute."

Everyone grimaced and said 'Eeew—yuck', even the Elves, who should have known better.

"But, Darre—er, Darleen," Gimli continued.  "Just because you don't like that lifestyle, that doesn't mean you're a woman."

"I know I used the word lifestyle, but, actually, my gender identity was probably fixed at birth." 

            Gimli stared.  "Your what?"

            "My gender identity," Darleen repeated patiently.

            Gimli gazed around him with a helpless expression.

            "I think Darr—er, Darleen—means," Elrond explained, "that regardless of, ah, his, ahem, his naughty bits, he—I mean, she—was really meant to be a dwarf-woman from the get-go."

            "Yes," Darleen agreed blissfully, "and now, thanks to Mithrandir, my body and mind are in sync."

"You mean," gasped Elrond, "that the wizard has—that he has—"

"Yes," nodded Darleen, "no more bits, which, anyway, were kinda on the small size even for a Dwarf."

            Gimli scrutinized Darleen.  "Well, I never would'uv taken you for a women—"

            "It's the beard," whispered Celeborn to Thranduil.

            "—but, well, now, you mention it, um, if you don't mind me asking, do you have hairy toes?"

            "Oh, yes," said Darleen, in a husky voice—kind of appealing, actually, thought Elrond—"My toes are covered with curly hair—kinky really, if you catch my drift."

            "And do you have a hairy back?"

            "Oh, exceptionally hairy—you should see the tendrils of soft hair curling down my backside," purred Darleen.  "Can't you imagine what it would feel like to caress those downy locks?"

            Gimli licked his lips and peered even more closely at Darleen.  "You know, I never noticed before, but you _do have spectacularly hairy ears."_

            "Mmm," agreed Darleen, "and they are _so sensitive to the lightest touch—as when, for example, someone breathes sweet nothings into my ear.  Would you like a demonstration?"_

            Elrond noticed with disapproval that Gimli was drooling—he really needed more work in the culture area—but Darleen didn't seem to mind.  She grabbed Gimli's arm and dragged him to the closet.  She flung open the door and unceremoniously seized Haldir and Legolas, who were in the midst of checking out Haldir's parts, and threw them into the middle of the room.  Then she shoved Gimli into the closest, leaped in after him, and slammed the door shut behind them.

            "Well," said Elrond, exhaling with relief, "I think our work here is done."            Gloin looked as if he'd been poleaxed, and Elrond was anxious to put some distance between the Elves and the older Dwarf before the Dorwinion wine had worn off completely.

            "Been nice working with your son," said Celeborn, shaking the hand of the dazed Dwarf.

            "Felicitations," said Thranduil.

            "Hope it works out between Darleen and Gimli," added Haldir.

            Advised Legolas, "Just tell Gimli not to hold Darleen so tightly around the waist.  I didn't want to complain, but those bruises really _hurt_ sometimes."

            With that, Gloin came out of his stupor.  "You, you, you—"

            "Elves," suggested Elrond.

            "—you brownies, you pixies—"

            "Hey," objected Celeborn, "if you can't tell the difference between a pixie and an Elf—"

            "—you faeries, you gnomes—"

            "Now, really!" protested Thranduil.  "A gnome has much more in common with a Dwarf!"

            "—you, you, you, LAWN ORNAMENTS!"

            The Elves gasped.  This was going way too far, especially from a _Dwarf_.

            "Lawn ornament," spluttered Elrond, "how jejune, how petit bourgeois, how—how—how—_suburban!"_

            "Let's go," demanded Thranduil.  "We're not appreciated here; his imagination is simply, ahem, dwarfed by our talents."

            "Yes," sneered Celeborn, "he's so small-minded—his intelligence is a perfect match for his stature."

            Legolas giggled, "Well, you know what they say—size _does matter."_

Gloin snatched up an ax.  "Oh, so it's gonna be size, is it?  Well, you're all about to find yourselves quite a bit shorter.  "What shall it be?" he said, advancing on Thranduil.  "Which head do you want to sacrifice, the one on top of yer neck or the one ye do all your thinking with?"

"Eeep," squeaked Thranduil, "I was wrong!  You don't have anything in common with a gnome; you're more like a Neanderthal!"

With that the Elves turned tail (but of course—what else were you expecting them to turn?) and fled, not ceasing until they had scrambled all the way back to the entrance to Moria.

"Phew," gasped Celeborn, "I can't believe we got out of there without leaving any pieces behind."

"Yeah," agreed Haldir."

"Haldir," teased Elrond, "are you absolutely _sure_ you didn't leave a piece behind?"

"By the Valar!" shrieked Thranduil.  "Where's Legolas!?"

Fortunately, at that moment the missing piece—er—Elf appeared, his usual dreamy expression on his face."

"Legolas!" exclaimed Thranduil.  "Where were you!?"

"Oh, I took wrong turn and stumbled into a balrog.  Say, you have no idea how _huge_—"

"Legolas," Elrond interrupted, "I do not want to know.  Now let's mount up!"

"But," protested Legolas, "that was what I was going to suggest!"

"I mean," Elrond said sternly, "let us mount up the _horses_—and no pun intended, is that clear!"

"Yes, Elrond," Legolas replied, crushed.  Then his face brightened.  "But I bet that if our ratings keep improving, some day the producer is going to send us back to do that balrog—so to speak," he added hastily when he saw Elrond looking daggers at him.  And with that the Fabulous Fellowship of the Five did mount up—the horses—and rode off into the sunset, having rescued yet another lumbering and inept male from poor lighting, tacky furniture, tasteless behavior, garish clothing, bad hair, and worse wine.

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